


Sometimes The Nightmares Are Too Much

by great_merlins_beard



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, SnowBaz, baz and simon have a real deep conversation, baz gives into his feelings a bit, but he is okay by the end, shit gets real soft, snow is terrified
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-09 02:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15257157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_merlins_beard/pseuds/great_merlins_beard
Summary: Everything is flying around and Snow’s just thrown his arms over his face like he’s protecting himself. Snow has had nightmares before, but he always wakes up after a minute. They’ve never nearly gotten this bad.





	1. Sometimes The Nightmares Are Too Much

**Simon**

Mrs. Daniels is sitting on the couch, her feet tucked up underneath the cushions, when I walk in. I grab the heavy front door before it can slam shut. Before she hears it. Before she has the chance to see me. I squeeze my red ball as tight as I can. _Don’t make a sound don’t let her hear you don’t do anything to make her upset. Step quickly step quietly and don’t don’t don’t—_

I whip around the corner of the wall and I’m okay. Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like it when we are loud. Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like it when we are around. We are a paycheck and a paycheck only. Children are not to be seen nor heard.

You do not speak. 

I have not spoken in the care home for days. If you need to say something, need to make any noise at all, take it outside and go the end of the street before you even think to breathe. 

Mrs. Daniels doesn’t like loud breathers. I learned quick that breathing through your mouth is quieter. It doesn’t whistle like breathing through your nose does. Mouth breather is a compliment now. Mouth breather is staying safe. 

The walls are all creaking and caving in, old greyish brown wood is splintering at the corners. She tells new kids and payers it’s all the old house. And in some parts it is, it’s quite old. But I’ve witnessed far too many kids being thrown and hit against them to sum it down to aging. 

Her laugh echoes through the air and it’s a bitter one, angry. I breathe slowly through my mouth, trying to calm my nerves, willing the hair on the back of my neck to relax. She doesn’t know I’m here, I was careful she doesn’t—

“Who tracked mud into the house?” Her words are sweet and I want to throw up. My shoes my shoes my shoes.

I look down.

My shoes are covered in mud. Was it muddy? Had it been raining? I don’t remember, why didn’t I think to look?

“I know someone is here. I am not angry.” Fear shakes my whole body as I hear her feet touch the floor. The hallway darkens and the wood starts curling and splintering inward. Where is everyone else? The smallest whimper escapes my lips. I can’t see Mrs. Daniels, but I can practically hear her head turning to me, locking in on her target.

“Come out come out _Snow._ ” she growls and rounds the corner. I run to the end of the hall where my room is, but I am moving too slow, like running through… I look down, the mud is filling the space between my legs and all around me. My heart hammers and I try to run but fall and splash into mud that has now filled the hall completely. My caregiver gets to me quickly, the mud doing nothing to slow her down. She reaches for my arm, grabs too tight, and pulls me up. Her face has contorted. Her malicious smile is like the sharpest crescent moon, filled with daggered teeth; her eyes are angled down, irises filled black. Her spidery frame towers over me, so slim but I know her grip will leave bruises. 

I hear the air whistle as her hand speeds down to slap me across the face. My head snaps to the side, the blood echo in my ears, face pounding where she smacked me. Her hand raises again and I cry out as the force of this one sends me flying into the rotting walls. A sob passes my lips before I can think to swallow it down. 

“Children are not be seen, nor heard. How many times do I have to tell you that? _How many times do I have to tell you that?!_ ” she screeches into my ear. I run a few feet before I fall into the rising mud again. 

“Get up, get up, **Get up!** ” I scream helplessly at myself. But the mud flies into the air instead, and Mrs. Daniels howls in fury.

I don’t even think to run, I just know that suddenly I am. I am sprinting down the corridor to my room as my caregiver tries to wipe mud off of her face, but we make eye contact as I reach my door. Her black eyes glow a bloody red, her face twists into the cruelest snarl I have ever seen. 

I am going to die. 

She is going to kill me. 

I shove the door open, slip through and slam it shut behind me. There are no locks on doors here, we don’t get that privilege, that protection, so I start shoving the dresser in front of the door. I so desperately need it to move, **move** and it goes right into place. Her feet slap the ground and suddenly she is pounding on the wood and jiggling the handle. She is cursing me, telling me how she is going to kill me. How I am never going to make it out alive.

How I am worthless.

How no one will miss me.

How the world will be better off without an insignificant little brat like me.

How no one will care that I am gone, my parents didn’t even care to keep me. 

Tears are streaming down my cheeks and I don’t know what to do. She’ll get in eventually, I can already hear the door frame creaking. 

I’m so small, my head can barely reach the window. How am I going to get out? I try to pull the bed over but it won’t move. Sobs are racking at my throat so hard that it hurts. It feels like swallowing knives and my head is pounding from being hit so hard. 

“ **As you were!** ” I hear her shout in a suddenly low and panicked voice, but when she slams into the room, her eyes look purely sinister. The absolute horror of the situation mixed with the sobbing causes me to hiccup air. She advances and all I can do is back to the corner of the wall, form an X with my arms in protection. Her nails are digging into my arms and scratching at my face and I’m kicking and kicking and kicking and I’m screaming and sobbing and I’m so scared so terrified so—

 

**Baz**

I’m nearing the top of the stairs to Mummers House coming back from feeding when I hear him, Snow, and his screaming. The smell of his magic is burning in the air thickly like smoke. Immediately, all the blood in my stomach drops. I run up the last few steps and try to throw open the door, ready to attack Crowley knows what, but the door won’t open. There is something on the other side blocking me.

Why would Snow barricade the door?

Another sob slices through the air, so heartbreaking it makes the hair on my arm stand. 

I pull out my wand and shout “ **As you were!** ” with as much power as I can muster and hear whatever was in front of the door move back to where it belongs. The door handle twists easily and I push it open with no resistance, but when the door swings open no one is there. 

No one but Snow and his terrified screams ripping through the cold December air while books, pens, shoes and other miscellaneous objects whip around the dark and moonlit room.

There is no protocol for this. 

Everything is flying around and Snow’s just thrown his arms over his face like he’s protecting himself. Snow has had nightmares before, but he always wakes up after a minute. They’ve never _nearly_ gotten this bad. 

His screams are making it hard to breathe. He looks like a fucking tragedy, sitting there, sobbing. But I don’t know what to do. Snow’s idea of me is someone who wants to kill him, I don’t know if he’d want me to help. 

Crowley, I want to help. 

I can’t take the look on his face. 

He looks absolutely _wrecked_. His face is wet with tears and snot, and he’s covered in sweat, and he looks so...small. So terrified. 

I can’t take this. Damn the consequences, I can’t let this continue. And I tell myself I don’t want to be burned alive if he goes off, that that’s why I’m helping him, but I know that’s a lie. 

He’s screaming and screaming and someone is hurting him and—

I cross the room. 

I grab the hand that is clawing his head; he is gripping it so hard. 

“Snow,” I say, my voice is shaking. He starts swinging at my torso, desperately trying to push me away. I won’t let him, just this once I won’t let him.

“ _Snow,_ ” I repeat, firmer, my heart is breaking. Why won’t he wake up?

“ _SIMON!_ ” I shout. He freezes. I touch his sweaty hair, “Simon, love, _wake up._ ”

Everything falls to the ground. 

 

**Simon**

Mrs. Daniels is beating me, and it’s one of the worst I’ve had. I can’t hear myself scream anymore, I think I’ve gone deaf. I think she’s going to kill me with her long, spindly, daggered fingers. I don’t even care anymore, I think, because it will at least be over. 

“Snow,” she says but it sounds far away, muddled. And I flinch, because this means another reason I don’t matter is going to follow when she uses my last name. 

“ _Snow,_ ” she repeats and her voice sounds closer now and deeper, her hits are slowing down significantly. 

“ _SIMON!_ ” and hands are touching my hair, but these hands are different. They aren’t needle point sharp and cutting at my skin. They are soft and safe. 

“Simon, love, _wake up._ ”

I open my eyes. 

Baz. 

 

**Baz**

Simons eyes open and he grabs the hand I have in his hair. Shattered eyes hold mine for a second before darting around the room. He is wheezing, panicking. I need to bring him back to the present. 

“Simon, look at me, it’s me, Baz. You are safe,” his eyes settle back to me and I’m momentarily lost in the blue. Even in the dark room, they stand so stark and bright against the red of his eyes. 

“You are safe, you are in Mummers House. Simon, love, I need you to breathe alright? Breathe with me. In,” I take a long slow breath in (my heart is pounding so fast), “and out,” I breathe out slowly for a few seconds. He tries to copy me, but his breaths come short. Before I really have time to let myself consider the consequences of what I am doing, I take his right hand with my left and bring it to my chest.  
“In,” I repeat and try to get him to feel my lungs expand. “Out,” and I hope he won’t know how much pain I’m in seeing him like this. 

Snow tries to breathe, I can see the effort, but it’s still too quick and I’m worried he isn’t going to be able to calm down. He needs comfort. He needs to feel safe. 

Fuck consequences. 

With my right hand, I grab him by the nape of his neck and pull him to me. His head is against my chest, and I put my chin on top. 

“Breathe with me love.” 

His hand rips out of mine and I think he’s going to push me away. I cringe, waiting for it. But instead his arms wrap around my waist and pull me into him. Tighter and closer than I’ve ever been. He’s shaking like a leaf. I can feel his eyes squeeze shut. His ear is in between my collarbones. His uneven, but slowing, breaths feel warm on my shirt. 

In any other circumstances I would feel like floating in happiness, but right now I’m just so relieved he’s starting to breathe normally that I could puke. 

“Breathe Simon, you’re okay. You’re safe.” 

His fingertips are gripping my sides tight. When I speak he flexes them, like he’s reassuring himself that I’m real. I wrap my arms around him. He can take from me what he needs, if he needs my whole body, fine. 

The smell of his magic is slowly starting to dissipate. As the panic in my chest dies down some, I feel a slight burning sensation on my rib cage and a buzzing in my head. He’s wearing his cross then, but frankly? If I wake up with a burn it will be worth it. Simon Snow is worth it. 

“If you are real...” his voice is so quiet, so scratchy, but I’m startled by its appearance anyways. “If you are real, then why are you helping me?” and he starts to pull away. But I’m weak. I’m so weak and now that he has been here I don’t want him to go. And he still sounds so small, so afraid. I squeeze his back in the embrace I have him locked in, trying to communicate that I’m not letting go.

“Because you numpty, you were going to blow Mummers House to pieces, and I quite like my things not burned to ash.”

“Oh.” I feel him deflate. Nice one Baz. 

“...and because you scared me. I didn’t like seeing you so afraid.” 

I feel him freeze momentarily, then relax. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. 

Snow’s voice wavers when he speaks again. “I’m sorry.”

My eyebrows furrow. 

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess. And I probably got snot on your shirt. And now my nemesis knows how weak I am. And honestly Baz? I don’t want to be your nemesis. Not after this. Enemies don’t hold each other and and help each other breathe and call each other love,” I cringe at that part. “They just laugh at each other’s pain. And you aren’t laughing. Or sneering. I was at least expecting sneering you know.” 

I realize what he is doing. He’s trying to diffuse the situation, act like it’s no big deal. Because Snow doesn’t like people worrying about him. 

I say as much to him and he pulls his head, but not his arms, away and says with the most beaten down look on his face, yet he shrugs. “What’s the point in making people worry? They’d be worrying all the time.” 

Snow and I have never been this open with each other. This in uncharted territory. 

This whole night is uncharted territory. 

“They shouldn’t have to worry, you know,” I respond carefully. “That shouldn’t have to happen. The Mage puts you on these ridiculous missions and you always come back covered in blood. And it’s not always someone else’s.” 

I wait for him to defend his perfect Mage, but it never comes. 

Instead he says, “Did you know the Mage puts me back in homes when the school year is through?” 

The question catches me off guard. 

“I didn’t know for sure… I assumed you usually stayed with Bunce or Wellbelove or _someone._ ” He shakes his head and then untangles our arms, walks into the bathroom. I hear him blow his nose. It’s loud and incredibly unpleasant. He washes his face and hands. Dries them off on his pajama pants. 

“No, he sends me away…” trailing off, going deep in thought. I can see it on his face, as his brow wrinkles. 

“The care homes are pure shit. And a lot of the people that run them are not… good.” He wraps his arms around himself and joins me back at his bed. I sit on it. I see him consider me for a moment before he sits on it too. “A lot of them are abusive. There is one in particular. A lady named Mrs. Daniels, she was the worst. She would beat us to the point of hospitalization and then say it was the other kids. The day I got my magic, she had attacked me so violently that I genuinely wondered if I was going to die.” 

I feel my blood boiling throughout my whole body but clench my jaw shut. Now is not the time for me to talk. “I thought that if I was just big enough, if I had enough power, I could push her away. That she wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore. I screamed and screamed and at one point my magic just… _bursted_ through me. Through the rooms. It’s shattered the windows of the house and destroyed some of the walls. She passed out and I just. I ran. I was battered and bruised and I had a broken arm. I spied from the street corner to see if she would be okay. Because even though she had tried to kill me I was worried about _her_. Anyways...that’s when the Mage found me. He found me mucked up and damaged. He gave me fancy medicine in a swirly purple vial that healed me up right quick and told me a story about a prophecy and a world full of magic. A place that I belong, that I would save. For a kid who had been told his whole life that he would amount to nothing, that he would never matter, that was some pretty spectacular stuff,” 

“But see, then I got here. I showed up, feeling like maybe, maybe for once I _mattered_. I was supposed to save these people from some unspeakable horror. But I finally got here, with a hope for a happy life surrounded with people like me, and I didn’t fit. I had too much magic. I couldn’t—I _can’t_ speak well and I don’t have any idea what’s going on half the time. I do what I’m told to do and I kill what I’m told the kill. And then the year is up and he just,” his voice breaks and it makes my heart drop. “He just leaves me. He drops me off for a summer of hell. He doesn’t care. I’m just his pet. He sees how I come back every year. Thin as a doornail and covered in bruises and cuts and he _doesn’t even care_. Scars are something he is so used to seeing on me that it doesn’t matter if it’s from a goblin or the person that’s supposed to feed and home you.” A tear falls down his cheek and I’m too stunned to wipe it away. Simon has never spoken this eloquently before, especially not with me around. I frustrate him too much. Now here he is just bleeding out these words and it’s kind of incredible that he hasn’t stammered once in this whole story. 

“And it doesn’t even _fucking matter_ because I’m back and ready to go, so ready to _please_ and have _someone_ be proud of me for a fucking change that I just. Do as he says. I follow blindly. Then he gives me back to people like Mrs. Daniels. He is the one person in the world that I make proud, and I’m just a trophy for him. Something shiney to show the Counsel so he can show what progress he makes, but once he is done with me, I’m done away with til he needs me again. Unreachable.” The tears are slowly streaming, and his eyes snap up to reach mine from their previous position of staring at his hands. A bitter laugh fills the room. 

“And now I’m telling you, the guy that I’ve been destined to kill, destined to be nemesi with, about all of my personal problems.” I look him in the eyes, before I even consider speaking. I try to convey to him that my walls are down and I don’t hate him. That tonight changes things. I was never going to kill him, I was always going to let him kill me, but maybe, just maybe after tonight, we won’t kill each other. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope for a better alternative. So I try something risky. 

I grab his hand. 

I lace his fingers through mine. 

“Snow—”

“Simon,” he interrupts me. “You called me Simon before.”

“No I didn’t.” I snap back. Or rather try to. It’s a half-bark at best. 

“I like it better when you call me Simon. Snow is what people who don’t care call me. And after all of tonight, after all _this_ ,” he gestures around the room with our interlaced hands, “you can’t tell me you don’t care at least a little bit.” I pause for a second before I respond. 

“Simon,” he smiles and it’s brilliant, “you are a fucking nightmare.” And I grin at him. 

And he grins back. 

“And you have no idea how much you matter, and not even in the world saving way, but in the day to day normal aspect. Penny glows with pride every time you do some small heroic action. Like last week when you punched that homophobic fifth year in the nose for harassing that gay couple in his year. Penny shined like the damn sun,” I squeeze his hand slightly, “I did too.” Simon looks up and I avoid eye contact.

That’s a conversation for a different night. 

“You push your way through every situation and you radiate this… this _goodness_ in everything you do. You just want to do right by everyone. And while that isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” I meet his searching gaze, “you need to do right by you first. Do what makes you proud. What makes you feel like you are doing something right.” 

“I want to stop the Humdrum.” He immediately answers. I smirk. 

“So do I.” 

“I don’t want to be enemies.” He is jutting his chin out. There is no winning when he does that and we both know it. That is the marker of an immovable Simon Snow. 

“...I don’t want to be enemies either,” I admit, so quietly, so nervous at revealing this hope.

But his eyes widen and his mouth opens a little and he says “You don’t?”

And I laugh a little, because I feel slightly dizzy at everything that’s happened in the last hour and it all doesn’t seem possible, but, beyond my wildest dreams, it is. 

“No, Snow—”

“Simon.”

“ _Simon,_ I don’t want to be enemies.”

“ _Brilliant._ ” And it’s a full toothed smile and I feel my cheeks cracking because we are smiling at each other and holding hands and sitting on his bed and he’s okay he’s okay. 

I look at where my alarm clock is supposed to be on my nightstand and see it not there. Then I look at the floor. Objects are haphazardly scattered around the room and it looks like a bloody train wreck. All of our books, homework, pens, shoes and clothes are scattered across the floor. I can’t even begin to imagine how disorganized it looks with the lights on. 

“You know,” I begin “our first activity as non-enemies should be to clean up the mess you made.”

“Right _now?_ ” His voice is filled with exasperation. 

“No,” I respond and stand up. “Tomorrow. But we should sleep. It’s probably nearing two in the morning and we have classes tomorrow.” 

He’s suspiciously quiet as I cross the room to grab pajamas from my drawer. I turn around and raise an eyebrow. 

“Simon?” His mouth quirks slightly. 

“...as my non-enemy, can I ask you a favor?” He asks, his voice unsure. I roll my eyes but nod.

“Can you…can you sleep with me tonight?” I stop in my tracks to the bathroom, slightly panicking. He cuts me off before I get the chance to respond. “That nightmare freaked me out and you just. You pulled me out of it so easily. I immediately felt safe once I heard you in my dream. I just…for tonight, can you stay with me? We can push the beds together if you want but I think we’ll fit okay on mine, unless you prefer yours. If you even say yes, that is.” 

His big doe eyes are pleading up at me and I feel my heart tug. I don’t think I physically or mentally have the strength to say no to anything he asks me right now. 

“Okay. Let’s go to mine. Yours is all sweaty.” And I shut the door behind me because I don’t think I’ll survive if I see him smiling at my suggestion to get into my bed. I take a deep breath and pray to whatever deity is out there that I make it through this night alive, and then I change into my pajamas and go back out. 

Simon is all tucked up in my bed facing the wall. I get under the covers and face toward the ceiling. I’m nervous. But then I hear Simon’s breaths pick up and I place my arm over his. 

“Simon?” I ask quietly. He turns his body to face me and his eyes are watery. 

“Sometimes the nightmares are too much.” He says it short. Like he is scared but like it’s no big deal. Like he’ll get over it. I pull him toward me gently, giving him opportunity to say no in some way, but he doesn’t. He throws his arm over my torso and lays his head on my shoulder. The buzzing of his cross is gone and I think about what that means, how he must of taken it off when I was in the bathroom and the thought makes my head spin. 

Now we are proper cuddling and I can feel myself blushing but Simon is safe and we don’t hate each other and _Snow took off his cross_ and I literally could not care about anything else. 

Until he lifts his mouth to my ear and whispers “Goodnight, _love_.” In a mocking tone which re-confirms he heard me call him that earlier. And now I’m _really_ blushing and spit out a quick _shut up_ and I’m cursing everything alive for the fact that I drank so much blood tonight because that will definitely be a problem in the morning. And even though it’s cruel humor, I can't help but smile. 

Because Simon is safe. 

And he’s holding onto me.


	2. Things You Don't Say To Your Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A sort of half sob breaks from his throat and my chest feels like it’s caving in. What’s he dreaming? "
> 
>  
> 
> In which it is Baz's turn for a nightmare and Simon has to comfort him.

**Simon**

It had been a couple weeks since my nightmare, since I woke up to Baz telling me to  _ breathe Simon.  _ Since falling asleep in his bed. 

Since falling asleep wrapped up in his arms. 

If I’m being honest, it was the best sleep I had ever had. Not that I would ever outright tell this to Baz. Even though we had agreed that all of this “enemies” stuff was behind us and declared friendship, there were things you don’t just  _ say.  _

For example, you don’t tell your vampire roommate that he has the fittest legs you’ve ever seen or that you want to fall asleep looking into his eyes every night because they are so steady and calming. 

There are things you can get away with, like “Baz how do you get your hair like that? Mines only ever a tangled mop on top of my head. Yours is so  _ pretty _ .” 

And then your roommate will quirk his brow at you, but he won’t sneer, we’re mostly past sneering at this point, and he’ll say “Pretty? My hair is not  _ pretty _ Snow,” and he’ll smirk cause I’ll shoot him a glare for using my surname, “my hair is gorgeous. I spend ages on it to get it to look this way, believe it or not. I don’t just wake up this beautiful,” and then he’ll whip his head dramatically and you’ll both laugh. 

And you’ll think  _ yes you do wake up that beautiful, I’ve seen it _ . But you don’t say things like that to your roommate. Especially because it won’t come out nearly as suave as you say it in your head. So instead you say something like “yeah you numpty, oh wait, you were just kidnapped by them,” and he’ll glare at  _ you  _ because  _ Snow I told you that in confidence. “ _ And I know you spend ages on it. You’d think you are the bloody Queen of England with how much time you spend in there.” 

There are some softer things you can get away with saying if you say it with a bit of bite. Like “hey move your fat arse, you are gonna take up all the pillow space.” 

And he’ll bitch about it but will do it nonetheless because you are friends now. And friends sleep together if they feel a little uneasy at the thought of sleeping alone yeah? Then wake up with tangled limbs all of the time right? And friends pretend to stay asleep if only to stay a little longer in the comfortable position of their roommates arms. 

Right? 

I blow out a breath of frustration. I’m just overthinking things. Penny and I cuddle all the time on the sofa.  _ But you don’t find yourself thinking about the exact color of her eyes, now do you?  _ Another huff. I put it all these thoughts on its own list of things to not think about—a Being Friends With Baz List. And then I lock it away in my head. It’s easier not to think about things, it makes everything less weird in my head. 

I move to the list of Things I Can Think About. 

Baz sitting at meals with Pen, Aggie, and I (and after a couple of days and some ear pulling by Baz, Dev and Niall too). Having actual conversations with him. 

The fact that now I know that Baz has a sister named Mordelia. His stepmom’s name is Daphne, and she is kind but will never replace his mom. I know all about his mom. How close they were and how much he loved her. How the reason he got drunk in the Catacombs so much was because she is buried there. 

I know that his favourite color is a plain blue and that he has a secret stash of scrunchies he likes to use. 

I know he likes his shoes ordered in a certain way and that his clothes at home are colour coded because he likes the organisation. 

His favourite constellation is Sagittarius because he likes the bow of it and  _ you know Snow, you have a similar pattern right here  _ and points to it on my left forearm. We laid out on the grass for over an hour that night (only two days ago) and it was cold so we laid with our sides pushed against each other. 

I know he is a vampire. He hasn’t told me, I don’t think he’ll ever really  _ tell  _ me, but he has hinted at it. I think that is as close as he’ll ever get to saying it out loud. 

I think about how that means he trusts me. 

And I think about all of these things I’ve learned about him in the past two weeks, and I can’t help but be angry at myself for wasting all of this time these past eight years. 

But now it’s Christmas Break and Baz is packing a bag to travel home. 

“Aye, don’t forget pants,” I tell him with a cheeky grin. He turns around and looks at me, almost insulted by the suggestion.

“I’m not going to forget pants you twat. Who forgets pants?” 

“I mean, everyone does it at some point. I’ve done it before,” I respond with a shrug. 

Now Baz looks right offended. “You’ve forgotten  _ pants?”  _ He pauses for a second and his eyes raise to the ceiling. “Actually, I’m not surprised by this. You are wholly unsanitary, I’ve seen you wear the same shirt for three days in a row.”

I glare at him now, “that’s because  _ you _ jinxed all of my shirts to itch when I wore them. I was lucky that one had been under my bed. And I wore it for three days because that’s how long it took for Penny and I to figure out what spell you used so we could undo it.” 

He’s trying to hide his laughter and it’s making my cheeks twitch. 

“It’s not funny you arse,” but I’m full on laughing now and so is he. I throw my pillow at him from my bed and say “I smelt  _ awful.  _ Agatha wouldn’t even talk to me because of the smell.” Baz stiffens a bit but relaxes so quick I almost think I imagined it. 

“How is that whole thing anyways, you and Wellbelove?” His light tone seems slightly forced but I’m not really sure. I’ve never been good at reading people. 

“Oh, we broke up a couple weeks ago. She didn’t want to be my  _ destiny _ or whatever,” he stops packing, turns around, and leans against his bed so we face each other. He’s giving me his full attention and I remember that though we’ve really only been mates for two weeks, it feels like we have been friends for much longer. It’s hits me suddenly that I completely trust him. Without a doubt in my mind, I trust him. I clear my throat and continue, “but honestly? I’m a little relieved. I know that sounds terrible, and I love Aggie, but I think I love her as a friend. Neither of us was ever really  _ happy _ when we were dating. Neither of us really...er...cared? I feel like this is coming out worse than I mean it to...” I trail off awkwardly. 

He looks thoughtful for a moment before he responds. 

“Not that I particularly enjoy Wellbelove’s presence, but you both deserve to be with someone that makes you happy, if that’s what you want.” He’s looking me in the eye and there is a palpable tension in the room. I’m not sure why I like the itchy feeling it’s giving me. 

The silence is broken as his eyes narrow, cocks his head, and says “Wait. You usually stay with her during Christmas Break.” There is no question in his tone and I nod my head because  _ yes that’s true.  _

“If you aren’t staying with Wellbelove where are you going? Are you staying with Bunce?” I look at the floor and shrug. 

“I’m staying here,” I answer with as much casualty as I can muster. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just steal some scones from the kitchen before Cook Pritchard leaves.” 

Narrowed eyes narrow even further. Honestly they almost look closed at this point. “You are going to eat scones for every meal for a week?” 

I shrug again because I really don’t know and I feel awkward. I don’t really know what he wants me to say about the situation. 

“Do you have a bag?” He asks suddenly. My head snaps up and his eyes are scanning my side of the room.

“My school bag. Why?” The question caught me a little off guard. His eyes zero in on it and he crosses the room to pick it up. Then he’s next to me and upending all of its contents onto my bed. 

“H-hey! What’s that about?” I try to grab my bag but he hold it in the air with his right hand and holds me back with his left. 

“Got clean shirts?” He asks. I raise my eyebrow but I stop fighting. I think I know where this is heading, maybe. 

“Aye, yeah I do.”

“Good. Pack ‘em. Come with me.” My jaw slacks. 

“You want me to go with you to your house? Don’t your parents hate me? Don’t you live in some fancy castle thing? Don’t you need to ask?” I can feel my eyes bugging out of my head, but this is uncharted territory. 

This whole situation is uncharted territory. 

“Yeah Snow. We aren’t enemies anymore, this is a good way to show my father that. Show that you aren’t against us. Really this is a political move,” he sounds haughty as he says it.  

I face the floor. I want to go but… “I don’t want to be a burden.” 

He puts his hand on my shoulder and his face softens. 

“We’re friends now, yeah?” I nod. “I don’t want you to spend Christmas here alone, and truthfully I’m not keen on the idea of being alone with my family on Christmas. You being there would make it better. Even if my father has a conniption over it.” 

I look up to meet his gaze. His face breaks into a cheeky grin and says with a mockingly sweet tone, “Come home with me Snow.”

A groan immediately escapes my throat and I roll my eyes. 

“ _ Simon.  _ Crowley Baz how many times have we gone over this?” I can’t help the slight exasperation that enters my voice. 

He smirks (the minger). “As many times as it takes for you to not make it fun.” 

  
  


**Baz**

After a two trains and a car ride, we make it to the estate  round mid afternoon . Simon’s leg is jumping, he’s twitching like mad and his magic is stinking up the car. I push his knee into the floor and look down at him slightly. His big doe eyes meet mine. 

“Sorry, I bounce my leg when I’m nervous.” 

“Your magic spills too,” I say pointedly. His eyes widen further and he looks into his lap and forces himself to full body stillness. 

“S-sorry.” My brows furrow. That’s not really how I wanted that to go. My right hand finds his left arm and I pull it slightly, trying to gage his attention. He doesn’t move his head but his eyes look to me from the side. I lower my gaze to his. 

“It’s okay, you don’t need to apologise. Just… try to breathe. And think about scones. We have a recipe for some, we can try to make them later—focus on that.” He sits back into the seat and takes a deep breath. I’m surprised he is reacting so strongly on this right now. I’ve seen him burst into a battle, him against forty goblins, with no anxiety. Yet here he sits and he’s shaking like one of those dreaded tiny rat dogs. 

I am nervous too. But for different reasons. I’m bringing home the Chosen One. With no warning. On Christmas  _ Eve. _ The Heir of the Mage that has caused my home to be invaded twice already. I have to tell my family that we are friends and I no longer plan on fighting him to the death. I have to hide the fact I’m in love with him from their watchful gaze—specifically my father. There is a lot that is riding on this visit. 

Not that I would ever tell Snow that. 

Snow already tries to shrink himself into not being seen when he’s nervous or feels unwelcome. It’s something he learned from being in care homes. 

Something he is still learning to forget. 

But it’s muscle memory for him and I’m hoping he won’t revert to using it. The memory of his screaming still makes my hair stand on end from when he had that nightmare two weeks ago. 

I just don’t want him to feel alone again. 

  
  


**Simon**

For the most part, it isn’t too bad. 

Baz’s stepmum, Daphne, was shocked when I came in the door, but once Baz described the situation she tutted her tongue, wrapped her arm around my shoulder like a mother hen, and said “well we’ll just get the spare bedroom freshened up and everything will be good. No one deserves be alone on Christmas.” She kept her arm around me all the way to the room I’d be staying in across the hall from Baz. It was an odd feeling, having someone immediately take on a comforting mother figure so quickly with me. But it was… nice. I felt myself envious of my roommate for a moment, having a mum figure as caring as Daphne in his life. 

Malcolm Grimm was another story. He wasn’t… unwelcoming, exactly, just incredibly guarded and watchful. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but it was nothing less than what I had expected from him. 

Mordelia and I immediately get on because we have prime blackmail material on Baz that we traded over fancy chocolate and creme desserts found in the freezer. I am now the proud owner of a well earned photograph of a six year old Basilton dressed up as a lion. Cat whiskers and everything. 

His twin sisters mostly just whispered while looking me right in the eye, but really they kept to themselves. As for the baby, he giggled at all the ugly faces I made at him.

After (a very posh) dinner that Baz hardly touches, Baz and I go up to his room. 

I immediately laugh when we walk in. It looks like a bloody room for the royals. Everything is waxed, polished, carved, and richly coloured. 

Baz gives me a very unamused look and my laughter becomes louder. Oh—oh this is too good. 

“Shut up,” he snaps at me. He’s all bark and no bite, I know that now. I poke at his cheek and my sides start hurting from the laughter. 

“Do you have a crown under your pillow? No, tell me, is that bed frame worth 10,000 quid?”

“The bed frame is worth more than your life Snow.” I wave off the insult and then I actually  _ look  _ at the frame. 

“Are there gargoyles on this?”  _ Wheeze  _ “please tell me you have a bell in here for when you need service. That would complete  _ everything. _ ” 

He’s scowling at me but his lip twitches. He walks over to the nightstand and pulls out a box. He opens it and—there it is. A full silver bell with swirls and angels and demons carved into it. There are tears legitimately streaming down my face now. 

“ _ No!”  _ I howl and throw myself on the bed. My stomach is actually in pain over this. I’ve been so stressed tonight that this laughter is just bursting out of me. I know the room really isn’t  _ that  _ funny but it feels so good to just  _ go off.  _

Baz is losing his battle of keeping his composure. He flops down next to me and starts snickering. “You are ridiculous.” 

We hang out for about an hour before a lady, who I think is the maid, pops her head in. 

“Your room is ready, sir.” 

“O-oh okay thank y—”  she shuts the door before I can even finish my spluttering. Baz checks his iPhone. 

“It’s twenty past ten. I suppose we should go to bed.” 

I wrinkle my nose for a second but get up. “Yeah I suppose. Goodnight.” 

He’s looking at me funny and I can’t figure out why. “Goodnight,” he says, and it feels like something is hanging in the air. 

I walk out the door, across the hall, and into my room. 

Another hour passes before I walk right back across the hall and into Baz’s room with a pillow and blanket in hand. I don’t even knock. 

“Baz, are you awake?”

“Simon?” He’s watching tv but pauses it when I walk in. “Yeah I’m up. You okay?”

“There are things making noises in my room.” I put the pillow on the couch and flop down. 

“Oh, you mean the wraiths?”

“D’know, dun care.” My eyes immediately start drooping shut. I’m exhausted.

“Simon, do you want to—” but I’m asleep before he even finishes the question. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon passes out on my couch and I blink in surprise. I mean I know Simon’s body heavily relies on sleep, but I’ve never seen someone drop so fast. He drops like a numpty. 

The thought makes me grin for a half a second before a weight enters my chest and stomach. 

Shit. 

I press my palms into my eyes until I see spots. Slow breaths, I tell myself. 

I’m not in the coffin anymore, I remind myself. 

“You are here,” I say to myself. I remove my hands and look at his golden curls. “And you are safe,” and I’m not sure if I’m saying that to him or me. 

The pillows are plush and form to my head as I lay down. I close my phone, roll over, and plug it into the charger on the nightstand. 

I take a breath and pause before I turn out the light. I could keep it on. Crowley knows I don’t do well in the dark anymore. Snow has been sleeping in my bed often enough back at Mummers since his nightmare that it hasn’t bothered me too badly. But here… this room doesn’t even feel like mine. 

I take a look at Snow’s face. He’s in here, I should be okay. The light shines in his face I feel a stab of guilt. He needs to sleep, he will only be stressed out tomorrow if he doesn’t, and he needs to be relaxed with my family. 

I turn out the light. 

I get comfortable.

And I close my eyes. 

  
  


**Simon**

I wake up with a start because is someone whispering my name. Are the wraiths in Baz’s room too? I shut my eyes and decide to go back to sleep until I hear a whimper. 

I pick my head up off the pillow and look to Baz. Did that come from him? 

“Baz,” I say quietly, in case he’s asleep. The sound repeats, a little louder this time. It’s definitely coming from his bed. I stand up quickly, but I can’t see shit. I move hands in front of me and try to feel around for his bedpost, instead I walk into the middle of the foot of the bed and my hips hit mattress. I swing my body around the corner and come up on the left. I can’t see him at all, the room is pitch black with black out curtains drawn, but I know I’m right. He’s definitely whimpering. 

“Baz are you alright?” I gently poke around the bed, trying to find his arm and hoping to not hit his dick by accident. 

A sort of half sob breaks from his throat and my chest feels like it’s caving in. What’s he dreaming? 

  
  


**Baz**

I’m back in the box. This damned fucking coffin. How long have I been here? It must only be a few days, really, but it feels like a lifetime. When was the last time they opened it? When was the last time I ate? My leg aches and it smells atrocious in here. My hands are at my thighs and I grab them, ready to bruise them if it means  _ getting a grip _ . 

I need to calm down. 

But I don’t want to be here I don’t want to be here  _ I don’t want to be here _ . A muffled sound of panic passes my lips before I can control it. 

I need to calm down. 

My hands are pushing into my legs, and the pain gives me slight focus. 

I need a plan of attack. When the coffin opens, I’ll bite them, I’ll set them aflame, I’ll do whatever to escape. 

So I wait. 

And wait. 

And time seems to be passing so quickly somehow, it’s like I can feel the days flying past.

Somehow, in a few minutes, I know I’ve been in here for weeks. 

My heart is beating so fast,  but it feels tenfold quicker, because it’s the only part of me that somehow still has energy. 

I move my hand up to my chest, to help me focus where I need to breathe, but my hand grazes my rib and—

That can’t be correct. 

I can feel my bones. 

I can barely move and I can’t see I can’t see but 

I lift up my shirt, and somehow I just  _ know _ . 

I’m rotting. The smell is putrid and suddenly I can feel the worms eating at my flesh and I’m grabbing onto my uncovered bone and I can’t breathe I can’t breathe  _ I can’t breathe.  _

And all I can think of is the one thing I’m always sure of—blue eyes and bronzed curls. A universe of moles and freckles. Simon. I’m never going to see him again. 

And suddenly I’m shouting his name over and over but I feel so far away. I’m flying away from my body and I’m watching myself rotting away somehow and I’m being pulled far far away through the clouds. 

A new scene. I know this place immediately, the nursery room, my nursery room. There are rays of light coming through the window, and I follow them to the door where they end. The door swings open and my mother comes in, and she has me, as a baby, on her shoulders. She’s making airplane sounds with her mouth and I’m giggling with my arms straight out and I look so healthy, so alive. 

But I can’t shake the feeling that something awful is about to happen. 

Mum swings me off of her shoulders and pulls me into a happy hug. 

I need to tell her something’s wrong, that she needs to get her wand and barricade the doors, but I can’t move. I can’t speak. And I know that even if I could, she wouldn’t hear me.

I’m a passenger in this scene. 

I hear them before she does, the vampires. 

They burst into the nursery and Natasha Pitch turns from sweet to hard in a seconds time. She whips out her wand. 

And then she attacks. 

It’s a full battle, at least twenty vampires are all fighting her, but she expertly slashes her wand through the air casting brilliant jinxes and curses left and right, setting them on fire, throwing them out windows and through doors. Within a few minutes, they are all defeated. 

I breathe, but I don’t feel relieved. Something still feels wrong. And then I know why, because she turns and looks at me. 

Looks me dead in the eye.

And there is no love there. 

And I look back, with all of the love and shame in the world.

We watch each other in silence, so I see when blood suddenly drips off of her and onto the floor. 

She touches her neck where two puncture wounds have suddenly formed and her face drains of color. 

Her wand raises in the air and she takes a step toward me. Her eye contact is unbreakable, concrete. I can’t bear to look away even though she is looking at me with such disdain, such hatred. I haven’t seen her in so long.

“I would rather be dead,” she says as she takes another step. She’s standing right in front of me now, her voice dark and steady as she snarls “than be like you.”

I try to speak, still nothing comes out. 

“ **Tyger, tyger, burning bright!”**

I feel a tear escape my eye. This is how this was supposed to go. She’s right. I’d be better off dead. 

And I’m burning burning  _ burning _ but I can’t bring myself to want it to stop. Because I deserve this. I’m a monster. 

This is the fate that monsters get. 

The fire hurts and my skin is melting, but all I can do is watch this little baby screaming screaming screaming because he is watching his mum, his best friend in the entire world, burst into flames in front of him. 

The flames take up my whole vision for only a second before they dissipate completely and the scene has changed again. I’m back on the school grounds near the forest. Blades of grass are tickling at my ankles and the sun is nowhere to be seen, hiding behind dark grey clouds. 

“Basilton!” I hear, and I spin around. Snow is coming toward me. I’m so relieved to see him that I run to meet him halfway. 

I’m running and I’m crying and I can taste the salt and I go to grab him and he’s muttering something too quiet for me to hear and he looks like he’s about to pull me in for a hug and I think I’ll let him because I just watched my mother die. 

But then I feel this pain in my gut. 

Simon is looking at me with a fierceness and triumph, he’s grinning like mad with his nose scrunched up and eyes aflame like he always knew he’d eventually get the upper hand. 

He’d always have won anyways. I’d always have let him kill me. It’s always been him in the end. 

I fall into his shoulder and he drives the blade the rest of the way in. 

He nudges my ear with his nose and whispers into my ear. 

“Baz? Baz wake up. Basilton you need to wake up.”

He pulls his head back and his blue eyes are rimmed red and crying and he says desperately, “Baz  _ please. _ ”

  
  


**Simon**

“Baz?” I shake his shoulders lightly. His eyes brows are pulled up in the middle and his face is strained. 

“Baz wake up.” His breathes are coming in and out irregularly, it’s like he’s choking back sobs. Like he’s trying to quiet his pain even as he sleeps. I don’t like that thought. 

“Basilton you need to wake up.” My hand comes to hold the right side of his head and I don’t remember moving it there. I bring the other one up to match.

“Baz,” and my voice catches a little. “ _ Please. _ ” I stroke his cheekbones now, they are wet with silent tears. 

His eyes snap open and find mine immediately. And then he does something I don’t expect. 

He shoves me away from him and scrambles so his back hits the headboard of his bed. I hear the thunk. Suddenly the light from his lamp is on and he’s lifting his long sleeve shirt up to reveal his stomach. He’s prodding it frantically like he’s looking for something but he isn’t finding it. Baz’s breathing is coming in harshly and I tell him so. His eyes whip up to meet mine and all I can see is red. Bloodshot eyes strained from crying. 

I start to walk over to him again and he gives me the worst look I’ve ever seen from him. This look of absolute betrayal and  _ pain _ . And it hurts more than every sneer, every snicker, every punch and push and threat. 

So I stop. 

I put my hands up. 

And I say “Baz, I would never hurt you. I will never hurt you. You were having a nightmare so I woke you up.” I take a slow step toward him as his face face relaxes slightly. 

“Because that’s what we do for each other Baz, we help each other with our nightmares.” His eyes are searching mine and he no longer looks...destroyed, just sad. My chest pulls toward the direction of him. I follow it. 

I sit in front of him on the bed. I slowly move my hand toward his. I give him every opportunity to push me away or say no. The second my pinky brushes his, he intertwines our fingers in a hard grip. He pulls my hand a little and I look at him, but Baz is very purposefully avoiding eye contact. So I do what I want to do (and hope it’s what he’s meaning for me to do). I pull him into a hug. 

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and I bury my face into his neck. My lips brush his skin and I don’t think about it, this is not the time to think about it. But then his face is burying in  _ my  _ neck and it’s becoming really difficult to not think about. Instead I busy myself with rubbing his back. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly. His neck is soft. He shakes his head. 

“Will you want to talk about it later?” He shakes his head again. Then a few seconds later he shrugs. I can tell he’s focusing on his breathing. 

“That’s okay,” I tell him, “we’ll do whatever you want to do.” Then he hums to himself and speaks. 

“Will you just talk to me? It will help me calm down. Just distract me with something.” I try to think of something. I really do. But all I can think of is Baz’s breath on my neck and how I shouldn’t be thinking about that right now and why have I been thinking about this so much lately? You aren’t supposed to think these things about your roommate— you’re not you’re not. But I’ve been quiet too long and he needs me to talk and I’ll do whatever he needs so I open my mouth and—

“You drive me crazy,” I blurt. I’m not good with words, but these are the only words I have in my head because  _ his lips are brushing my neck  _ so I’ll have to run with it. “You drive me crazy with this list of things I don’t like to think about.” I pause, unsure if I should continue, but he flexes his hands, asking me to. So I do. 

“And over the past couple weeks you have given me this pretty long list…” I’m drawing circles on his back. I focus on the shape, it helps to keep my cheeks from burning at what I’m about to say.

“You drive me nuts with your stupid hair and your stupid legs.” I feel him freeze, but now that I’ve started I don’t really want to stop. The words start tumbling out with the speed of a rant. 

“And you know, mates don’t think about these things, but I’m bad with words and this is all I can think about lately: I know your favourite color and how you love Paddington,” he snorts into my shoulder. “And I think about how your smile drives me up a wall. It’s so much worse than when you smirk at me. So much worse, because, like, it’s just blinding. And it like,” I huff. 

This is hard to word without sounding gay. 

“It just stays at the front of my mind for hours. Your smile. And I find myself wanting to see it all the time.” 

If I'm being honest with myself though, it is proper gay. I can’t really bring myself to care. 

“But see, you aren’t supposed to think these things about your roommate. I’m not supposed to want to run my hands through your hair,” my fingers make contact with the subject in question. It’s silk between my fingers. “Or wonder the exact shade of your eyes,” I pull back now and look at them; they are wide and dazzling. Wet pavement, I think, that’s what they look like. His eyes are getting closer to mine, when did I start leaning in?

“Roommates,” I drop my voice to a whisper (there’s no need to speak loudly when we are this close) “aren’t supposed to want to crawl into the other’s bed with them every night because it’s the best part of their day.” Our foreheads are touching now and he isn’t pulling away. 

“Because sleeping with you is the safest I’ve ever felt.” It’s hard to look at his eyes this close, so I close mine. I bring my hands up and cup his face. My thumbs stroke over his cheekbones. 

“Simon,” he breathes and I can feel it mingling with my own. 

I close the distance. 

  
  


**Baz**

Simon and I kiss for a while before we even come up for air. My lips are swollen and so are his and all I can think is  _ I just did that to Simon Snow’s mouth. _ And he’s smiling and smiling and then he kisses both my eyebrows, nose, hairline, and then kisses me softly on the lips once more before saying “Crowley, I’ve wanted to do that for weeks.” I can hear his grin before I see it. 

My heart is beating so fast and my cheeks actually  _ hurt  _ from smiling, which is a thing I didn’t know could happen. Snow is looking at me like I’m his world. 

Aleister Crowley, I’m living a charmed life. 

I pull him back in for another kiss and I make it slow because I want to feel exactly how his lips move against mine. And then whisper, with disgruntlement, “we really should go to bed.” 

And I know he knows what I mean, so I don’t feel that embarrassed for it sounding entirely suggestive (though my cheeks warm at the thought anyway). He nods his head and pulls me down onto the pillow, wraps his arm around my torso, and fits his head into the crook of my neck. He kisses me right on the artery on my neck and I jolt a little because it tickles. I feel Snow snicker and hear him say “good to know.” And I think about the implications of that. That he’s saying that he’s saving that for future knowledge—he’s expecting this to happen again. That this wasn’t a one time thing for him. 

And I know there are much bigger problems to face in the morning. I know I have to tell my father that plans have changed and that Snow is my friend (something more? Not that I’d tell father that). 

But right now I can’t bring myself to care, because I’m holding the sun in my arms, and for once, the burning feels good. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @BasicBathsheba for beta-ing <3
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first fic, so thank you to @basic-banshee @mintaero on Tumblr for reading through this and making suggestions.  
> Sidebar: I have mud on my face.


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